Forgotten
by Utaria
Summary: Francis Bonnefoy, healthy two thousand five hundred years old or so nation, get run over by a car and is send to the hospital.  He stays there for over a month. And nobody comes to see him. Nobody. - One shot, dark theme, rated T for blood


"…._Bip…Bip….Bip…"  
><em>The sound of the electronic device calculating his desire to live was bipping quietly, regularly, like his heart, like something that no matter what would keep on having the same rhythm.  
>Like how his heart was beating, breaking each time blood flowed and was pumped into it, tore apart with each passing minute, his will once so strong slowly dying away, evaporating like the tears he had cried until he couldn't feel anything anymore.<p>

He couldn't feel a lot anymore. Ah, yes. Expect pain. Not only mental, but also physical. He had been trapped into this bed, in this hospital for more than a month now. Trapped in this….white, sick, /purified/ environment. For him it was torture, passing everyday looking at the walls and wondering if there was a crack in this perfect looking structure. He hated all fake things, and hospitals were fake. They smelled fake, they felt fake, and every time he had went to one he had tried to run out as soon as possible, because he felt like he was chocked, strangled into those.  
>And here he was, stuck into one of those.<p>

His dull blue eyes stared at the door. Nothing else but the door. The flame that had once lighted them up was dead now, crushed and stomped on too many times to come back to life again. Not this time. This had been the last straw.  
>He had went through wars, humiliation….<em>rapes…<em> And others disgusting and horrible things that would have made people turn white as a sheet at the mere mention of them.  
>But this.<p>

This had been too much.

For more than one month he had been trapped in this hospital, trapped into this bed, into this empty room.

And nobody had come to see him.

None of the nations, none of the humans he knew.

Neither his best friends.

Neither his childrens.

_No one._

Everytime he had thought of hearing footsteps toward his door his heartbeat fastened, and he sat up a bit, biting his lower lips.

Everytime the door knob had been turned, he had almost smiled, thinking maybe Matthew, Seychelles, even Arthur might have come to see him.

The first week he had waited.

The second week he had been patient.

The third week had been long.

The fourth week he had cried.

The fifth week he had been numb.

And then he stopped counting.

Now he was just hopelessly waiting.

He looked around, blond hair following his movement, flattened against the pillow from being pressed on for so long.  
>His dull gaze met something. A sparkle appeared in them.<br>Slowly, very slowly he sat up, his whole body crying for him to lie back down, muscles sore and tensed. His fingers twitched as he leaned over the side of the bed and the tubes in his hand and nose forced him to stop.  
>Calmly, frightenly automatic, he took them out.<br>Then he could go back to leaning, his fingers jolting and wrapping around the handle of something.  
>He sat up and stared at the metallic medical scissors in front of him, tilting them a bit to the side so that they would shine in the disgusting fake light of his bedpost's lamp. He paused, a long, gracious finger tracing the outline of the scissor, drawing some light blood.<p>

He freezed.

Then paused.

Then started again.

_It felt warm._

He thought- or looked like it at least- and slowly brought up the sleeve of the plain outfit the nurses had half forced him in, revealing his skin, paler than usual from not seeing the light in so long.  
>Then, slowly, with a fluid movement, he opened the scissors and pressed the cutting blade on his bare wrist.<br>His breath deepened lightly, his eyes seeming unfocused.

"_Bip..Bip..Bip…"_

Then he sliced.  
>The skin broke and beautiful, hot red spilled out from the wound. His breath hitched and he paused only to stare at the blood rolling around his wrist to slowly stain the white, pure sheets.<p>

Another slice.

More red warmth.

A next one.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten-

_"BIiiiiiiiiiiiip-"_

* * *

><p>So, hi- This is utaria and this is my first fanfic ever (at least the first one published here).<br>_  
><em>It's rather dark and I don't know, I did this on the spurt of the moment so it might not be really good.

Please rate and comment, I don't mind constructive cristiscism, I want to improve my style ^^


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